Louie's Day
by singerme
Summary: One day with Louie Pheeters


**Louie's Day**

I don't own these characters; I just like to spend time with them. No other profit to be had than that.

**LOUIELOUIELOUIELOUIELOUIELOUIE**

Louie rose from his pallet in the stable, body stiff and sore and head slightly off balanced from last night's dinner of whiskey. He'd gone sober for four days and had worked for the Marshal, Miss Kitty and Hank, here at the stable, to be able to afford the bottle he had last night. And he was now wishing; he hadn't been so eager to consume the whole thing in one sitting.

Getting to unsteady feet, he looked around him. He had promised Hank he would muck out the stalls today and hay and water the horses. But right then, he knew, those tasks were beyond him. Searching through the hay, he'd slept in the night before, he found last night's bottle but it was empty, not even a drop was left, with which to get him going.

Sighing resignedly, he shook his head and trudged out of the stable and down towards the Long Branch. Maybe Sam would have something he could do in order to earn him at least one drink.

Sam Noonan had been a bartender for a number of years and he knew the difference between when a man wanted a drink and when he absolutely needed a drink. When Louie walked into the bar that morning, Sam knew he _needed_ a drink.

Quickly a deal was struck. Louie carried a few boxes and swept the boardwalk in front of the saloon and Sam poured him a glass of the finest whiskey he had behind the bar, at Kitty's direction. She too, could tell when a man was in need.

Chores done and payment accepted, Louie doffed his hat to Miss Kitty and left the saloon, feeling fortified enough to at least keep his bargain with Hank. A little work for a place to stay.

The next two hours were spent in quiet work and contemplation. Though the whole of Dodge knew Louie, or at least _knew_ _of_ him, they only knew one side. No one in Dodge actually knew where Louie came from, what his background was or what had caused him to start drinking in the first place.

Well, no one but Miss Kitty.

He hadn't meant to tell her, he hadn't meant to tell anyone. There had been many times, since coming to Dodge that he'd been senseless with deliriums of one sort or another but he knew, he'd never revealed that part of himself to anyone until that night.

Of course, he'd been sick at the time. He'd gone on one of his benders and lain in the alley behind the Long Branch, hidden behind a barrel during a late fall rain. Sam found him the next morning and Miss Kitty had insisted he stay in one of her rooms upstairs, until he recovered from the resultant pneumonia.

It was during one of those nights, when the chills had a tight hold of him and his fever was high, that he'd told his life story to Miss Kitty as she sat beside him all night, constantly wiping his chest and forehead with cool water and coaxing him to take the bitter medicines, Doc had left for him.

When he was fully recovered, he hadn't been sure whether the confession he had given had been real or simply in his mind and so he had sought out the saloon owner and asked. Her reply had simply been to give him a hug and tell him not to worry about it. He knew then that he had told her everything and that she would never betray his secret or judge him for it.

After finally finishing his work at the stable, Louie brushed off his thread bare coat and old worn derby hat and made his way down to Delmonico's. Not too often was he allowed into the front of the restaurant, where the respectable citizens ate, but he knew if went around to the back, the cook would often take pity on him and slip him a plate or a bowl of something in exchange for washing a few dishes or taking out the trash or carrying water.

Having carried two buckets of water into the back of the restaurant and washed a sink full of dishes, Louie took the meager plate of food the cook had given him and walked to the edge of town, sitting down in the shade of an old scrub oak tree to eat his meal. It wasn't much by a lot of standards, but then he didn't need much, food anyway.

Eating his meal in solitude, Louie watched a bird hop around the ground, picking up insects and gobbling them down without taking any notice of the man watching it. Louie felt a certain kinship with the winged creature. Though free to go where it wanted, it stayed, picking up what it could from the ground and making do with whatever it found there. He realized that was pretty much how he'd lived a good portion of his life.

Once his meal was completed, Louie took his plate back to the restaurant and then made his way down the boardwalk, trying to decide what he wanted to do next, besides drink. It was too early drink, even by Louie's standards.

After walking a ways, he found himself in front of the general store. Louie sometimes liked standing outside the store and watching Mr. Jonas' customers as they came and went. He sometimes found amusement in the many different characters that graced the premises.

People like the haughty Mrs. Walker. If it ever come a hard rain, she'd drown, he reckoned. Her nose was almost always in the air except, of course, when it was immersed in other people's business.

Being used to people looking down on him, Louie took no offense when she would snub him, or be outright rude and offensive. But it bothered him a great deal, when she do that to the few people in town he considered to be his friends. He'd heard the many things she'd said about Miss Kitty and even Doc and the Marshal for being friends with her.

Louie was not a violent man by any stretch of the imagination, but there were times, when he heard the scandalous remarks made by Mrs. Walker, and others around town that he wanted to slap them or push them in the nearest horse trough. But he did neither one. Instead, he'd scowl mightily at them and then go his own way, knowing that nothing he could do or say would make a difference in their attitudes towards him or his friends.

Having amused himself for a couple of hours at Mr. Jonas' customer's expense, Louie finally pulled himself to his feet and made his shambling way down the street. It was getting late, and although his morning labors for Hank had secured him a place to sleep for the night, it hadn't provided him with the wherewithal for a bottle.

Although always the breath of kindness, he knew better than to ask Miss Kitty for more than a small shot of whiskey. She was unfailing in trying to get him to quit or at least slack off. The Marshal was out of town, so there'd be no chance of maybe sweeping the jail floor or carrying in wood for some change.

Doc was the soul of kindness towards him, but the only thing he'd give Louie was a weary sigh, a small lecture on drinking and the offer of a meal. Louie had already had his one meal of the day and the sustenance he now sought was liquid.

But there were other places he could go.

Three hours later, Louie walked away from the freight office with enough money in his pocket to purchase his evening's libation. As he finally settled down on his bunk made of hay and a rough woolen blanket, he took a drink out of his hard come by bottle, thankful for another day and another bottle.

Oh, he knew his life wasn't easy. And, yes, because of his drinking, his health was poor. And he knew, without Doc having to tell him, that each drink he consumed was putting another nail into his coffin. But he'd long ago come to terms with that fact. Alcohol had claimed his soul and he was helpless to stop it from consuming his body as well.

But Louie Pheeters no longer worried about that. He was concerned about today, not tomorrow. And today, in his estimation, had been a good one. He'd had a decent meal, got to spend time with his friends around town, and had a bed and bottle for the night. And he'd accomplished all of that with his own two hands.

Though he didn't often look it, Louie Pheeters was a proud man in his own way. Though beyond poor and, more often than not, drunk, he still carried himself in a certain manner and he prided himself on never taking a handout unless he could return the favor in one way or another. Some of the work he took on, in order to survive, was not easy by any means, but it was always honest and at the end of the day, drunk or not, he could sleep with a clear conscience knowing he'd done his best.

Today, he'd done just that, his best. And as he took the stopper out of his bottle and lifted it to his lips, he smiled in satisfaction. No his life wasn't easy, and if he had to do it all over again, there'd be a lot of things he'd change, but despite it all, he knew for today at least, he'd lived his life his way and he was content in that.

The End


End file.
